


You and Me

by XenakisFox



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Adventure & Romance, M/M, Post-Xenoblade Chronicles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenakisFox/pseuds/XenakisFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short amount of time has passed since the recreation of the world. Fiora lay resting in an ancient High Entian chamber, and Shulk is left on the outside with his friends in waiting. What is left of the Bionis decomposes miles outside the renewed Colony, and any journeys of exploration must be held off, as it is too dangerous to walk the Ether-saturated surface. But when Alvis, a man everyone had assumed to have disappeared, shows himself to Shulk in a dream, he is presenting an offer of adventure the young heir cannot refuse.</p>
<p>This is a long, post-game fic, so, obviously, spoilers abound. If you have not heard of the short story within the Monado Archives, I recommend listening to chuggaaconroy's reading of it, as the canon information there does play a large part in this, along with my own headcanons, and ideas. This will be ongoing for a while, and I will update as frequently as I can. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Invitation

He appears to the boy in a dream. Or, rather, where his busy mind and lack of consciousness had brought him. Alvis stands beside him as he blearily looks around their surroundings, and the seer knows that Shulk will only see what he wishes him to see.

They stand on familiar, yet unexplored, ground: the Bionis’ horn. Not quite on the tip, or near the edge for that matter (he does not wish to frighten the heir half to death), but still far enough out that looking over the side of the stretched land mass would surely give one a terrible sense of vertigo. The sky is dark on account of swirling clouds above; the altitude surrounds them with mist, but they would be able to make out who it was they were speaking with.  
  
When the blond comes to, his posture stiffens from the shock, until a single sweeping gaze matches his shining blue eyes with his company’s metallic silver. Shulk sidesteps away, wide stare breaking from Alvis’ form for only a moment to glance downwards at the rocky ground. Ever the cautious one.

“Where— _Alvis_? What’s going on?” the Homs asks, taking another step back.

“Considering the amount of time that has passed since our last meeting,” entity replies coolly, unable to resist a growing smile, “I imagined your response a bit differently.”

A bewildered look follows. “No one has seen you in months – _I_ haven’t seen you in months. After… after Zanza, and the creation of the new world, you _disappeared_.” The offense that tinged his expression fades after a moment. “I thought you died. Everyone did. I mean, if you even _can_.”

“The persistence of the universe is a peculiar concept, Shulk. Millennia of perpetuating one order only to have it reborn…” he trails off, his gaze holding steady, “It can leave one’s consciousness weary, in layman’s terms.”

“So you’ve been… resting? This entire time?”

“Not quite.”

The blond’s lips purse into a line, and his brows draw together in thought. In confusion. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I am offering an invitation,” Alvis pauses, watching the way the boy’s features shift in curiosity, “The Bionis is dying. Though all life has since left it, and its body lay prone amongst the waters of your renewed seas, it still lives, however barely.” Simper widens at the dampened horror slowly crawling up Shulk’s face. “Do not fear; the soul of the Bionis has long since vacated. _His_ era is over. Though what is left of the Titan still bleeds Ether into the depths below.

“I ask that you join me in a journey to observe its corpse. There are many places you have yet to see with your own eyes, and I believe it would be a shame for the opportunity to go to waste.”

Realization floods the Homs’ features, and something sparks behind his searching focus. Alvis already knows what he is going to ask. “Can my friends come, too?”

“Unfortunately,” entity replies easily, his stare unwavering, “my intentions are for it to be a journey for you. What with all you have been through, and the insight you have attained thus far--”

“No,” Shulk interrupts, shaking his head, “I can’t go without my friends. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

“I can understand why you would be unwilling to travel without them. However there are certain things I do not believe those who have not experienced divinity would find much use for.”

This quiets the boy for a few seconds, his brow creasing as the metaphorical gears begin to turn. “I..I didn’t change my mind, Alvis.”

“This is not about that.”

“Then what is it about? Why do you want to do this? Why now?”

“You will see.”

Alvis can feel the way the heir’s fingers curl into fists, as if they were his own hands. A side effect from dwelling within one’s subconscious. Frustration is there, and it is at war with an unbearable thirst for knowledge. He wanted to know – _needed_ to. There were so many things he had yet to see, and this would be an opportunity like none other. In his brief bout of godhood, he felt the universe breathe in time with him, felt the world come together as one, though he could never understand. Not in that short amount of time. It had only been a glimpse, and he needed more. The seer knew this better than anyone else.

It was selfish. Horribly so. He had responsibilities to the colonies and to the people. He couldn’t afford wasting time on some road trip with the Monado. Thoughts trail to Fiora, still resting in the regeneration chamber provided by Melia, with help from Linada. It would be a long time before he could see her face again. See her smile in the pretty way she always did when she looked at him. All his hard work was for her, not just the people of the renewed colonies. A warm feeling swells in his chest – she’d want him to go, wouldn’t she? He wished she was here. She would understand.

Blue eyes close for a moment and he inhales, eventually replying with a determined, yet exasperated tone. “Okay.”

\--

“So, wait, wait, wait, HEY!” a large hand snatches the piece of clothing from Shulk’s grasp. The blond sighs and looks up to his friend. Reyn towers above him, his arms folded across his chest in defiance. “You’re tellin’ me you’re just gonna disappear? With _him_? For, what, _seven years_?”

“It’s not going to be that long, Reyn, and you know it,” he extends an arm in an attempt to wrangle his shirt back, “Give me my stuff – I need to get to the docks before it gets dark.”

“I can’t believe he was around this entire bloody time,” he grumbles before his expression fades into the expectant, “Wh…What if you’re not back when she wakes up, eh? What then?”

There is a twist in Shulk’s gut, and he swallows. “I’ll be back in time. Linada said the chamber would take at least a few months and I’m not gonna be gone that long. It’ll probably be a week at most! Now give me--”

“So you’re just _going_ and you’re leaving me to explain to everyone where you’ve gone.”

“I wrote a letter for Dunban for when he gets back with the Machina, _and_ a letter for Melia and Riki,” the Homs turns away, instead packing other items inside his bag rather than wait for his friend to return what he stole, “You hang out with Sharla all the time; it’ll be fine. _I’ll be fine_. Al- _Monado_ knows what he’s doing.” Shulk glares down at his things, uncertain of who he is trying to reassure anymore.

“Yeah, sure. I still don’t trust ‘im.”

“Even after he saved all of us.”

“Oy, _we_ saved us. He just… did the technical stuff.”

Tucking a third water bottle into a side pocket, he finally begins zipping up his only luggage. Nothing too large or heavy, just something for what he thought he might need. Clothes, fresh water, basic travel items. Though he was unsure how useful such mundane things would be when in the company of Alvis. The seer did say just to bring what he thought best. Vague, but that was to be expected.

Turning back towards Reyn, Shulk scans his face. His best friend stares back, and there is a twinge of worry buried beneath his boisterous confusion and frustration. Reyn was never very good with expressing how he actually felt. Perhaps time alone with Sharla would get him to open up more. Pursing his lips, Shulk places his hands on his waist. “I’ll only be gone a couple days. A week at most. If I’m out longer than that, I’ll give him a piece of my mind just for you.”

A very distinct, very recognizable pout. “I hope that means you’ll sock him in the nose.”

Smiling, the blond chuckles. “Yeah. Extra hard.”

“I mean it, Shulk. I don’t… I don’t trust him. _It_. Whatever,” dark eyes avert to examine the floorboards, “I don’t care what he did for us _or_ the world. The guy’s shady. I don’t want him to take you away, y’know?”

This time, Shulk frowns, recalling the dozens of late night talks they had had since the recreation of their world. He had done his best to explain what it’d been like to be a god, but he never felt like his explanations were enough. There was always this unexplainable sensation he couldn’t come up with words to describe, and yet Reyn seemed as fascinated as ever. Fascinated, and terrified. He had come very close to losing his closest friend that day, and it seemed to be a difficult memory to let go of, considering his overprotective qualities. Though he had become more resolute in his attitude for the future, old habits died hard.

“I’m not going anywhere, Reyn. I promise I won’t let anyone take me away.”

“How do you know?” his tone is more urgent, “This is the _Monado_ we’re talking about. _Unlimited power_? Sound familiar?”

“He knows I don’t want that life. He has to obey me,” he couldn’t think of any better way to put it, and while his tone was more confident, his words fell flat, as he was not. He had no idea what was in store for him – it was all blind trust in Alvis. Trust in a _true neutral_ of a being, who had no morals or conscience… Shulk shook his head, long strands of flaxen hair falling in front of his eyes as he searches for his friend’s gaze. “I will be alright, Reyn. I swear. Cross my heart.”

It is a few reluctant seconds before the taller Homs hands him his extra shirt back. “Fine. A week? I’m marking the calendar for when I go hunting for you myself.”

A grin slowly returns and the smaller tosses the garment to the side before holding out his arms, welcoming the other into an embrace. His friend accepts, however Shulk can only tolerate being lifted and squeezed for so long before he is sputtering for release from Reyn’s iron like hold.

“Oh, and when you see him, punch him anyway, first thing,” Reyn says as they begin to finally part ways, “For good measure. Tell ‘im it’s from me.” He proceeds to deliver a hard blow into his opposite palm as an example, before waving goodbye. The look of worry seems to trickle back into his features as Shulk turns away, heading for the entrance of the colony, towards the docks.

\--

“Hello.”

Shulk nearly jumps out of his skin at the greeting. His nerves were so on edge from his farewells with Reyn that he was sure he would have leapt right off the edge of the dock should Alvis have been any louder. Blinking, he turns towards the smaller Homs, a strange sense of amazement sweeping over him for a moment. He hadn’t been in Alvis’ presence – or rather, the Monado’s physical form’s presence – in some time. The last time he was, he had been put in the awkward position of ignoring his feigned treachery. He didn’t appear any different: same long, pale hair, sharp metallic eyes and placid features. Same clothing as well. All indigo and violet hues that complimented his dark complexion. They stood at nearly the same height, and yet he seemed so much smaller than Shulk. Smaller than anything; he was inconspicuous like that, the Homs thought.

Now they stand together, ready to set off on a trip. Just the two of them. Shulk wouldn’t describe Alvis as the best for casual conversation or small talk, so he was certainly unsure how such an endeavor would go, but that did not stop a flittering, eager feeling from rising within his stomach. He almost wants to reach out and touch the man, just to make sure it was real.

“Hi—I mean, hello. Alvis,” Shulk clears his throat and summons his friendliest smile, one to spite the nervousness slowly tainting hopeful expression, “…Do you still want me to call you Alvis? Or would you prefer Monado..?”

“Which do you prefer?”

The blond opens his mouth, then shuts it, the question catching him off guard. “Er… well, I was asking you?”

“Whichever is easiest for you, Shulk.”

A pause. Chewing his lip, the Homs nods. “I’ll just stick with Alvis.” _Monado_ seemed dehumanizing anyway.

Alvis nods in return, and turns his attention out to the sea – to the large mass of land far off in the distance. The colony’s officials had deemed it too dangerous to investigate for now, due to the enormous accumulation of Ether content oozing out from the Titan’s body. _I’d give it a few decades before we see one inch of that thing._ Shulk recalls speaking with Dunban on the subject.

He sighs. Dunban will be furious when he finds out where he’s gone.

Shrugging off the thought, he tucks his hands into his front pockets. He’d abandoned his usual outerwear in favor of a larger, dark blue coat and pants to match, both garments embroidered with the complicated designs of Colony Nine. Bright eyes trail over the outline of the impossibly large, crumbled corpse, a calm silence easily settling between them before Shulk finally speaks up once more.

“How are we getting there?” he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I don’t suppose Melia let you borrow one of their aircrafts..?” A blatant joke. If there was one person who hated Alvis more than Reyn, it was Melia. He wonders if Alvis had made any contact with her. Did he even care to?

“No,” Alvis answers plainly, one hand raising to brush silvery hair behind an ear, “I have a much quicker mode of transportation in mind. Though it may be a bit startling.”

Shulk’s brow knits, and he looks down towards the seer. He’s smiling, but barely. “Startling?”

“Take my hand.”

Looking down, the other already has his hand out, palm turned towards the dimming Ether above. Swallowing, he reaches out, finally clasping their hands together. He hardly has time to find it odd how quickly Alvis laces their fingers together before he has lost his footing, along with all sense of body, and self.


	2. A Cave In

“ _Melia_. By the time you get this letter, I’ll have _already set off_. Can you believe this boy? The nerve.” The Empress of the High Entia dismisses the holographic document with a flick of her wrist, arms soon folding angrily across her chest. She, of course, spoke only to the walls, as she always did. There was no use in bothering any of the palace staff with her personal life. What was left of it, anyway. With all her energy being diverted to overseeing the surviving High Entia, she hardly had time for anything other than work, politics, and more work. It was draining, but fulfilling to see it slowly come together. Somewhat.

She’d read over Shulk’s com about three times, and she was about to go for a fourth before the door opened with such noisy abruptness that it could only mean one thing.

“MELLY,” Riki exclaims, dashing in as fast as his small, Nopon legs could carry him, “Melly! Shulk—Shulk _gone_?!”

“Yes,” she says, deflating into her chair. Shulk gone, with that complete waste of universal energy _Alvis_. Although she had caught herself feeling considerably surprised that he was around at all, she still hadn’t forgiven him, despite everything, and she wasn’t certain if she ever would. Hatred was easy to hang on to. Having someone to blame. It wasn’t healthy, as Sharla had told her a thousand times, and Melia was more than aware. But this Empress was a master of _bottling_ and she found it far more appealing than ever having to see that wretched traitor’s face again, much less forgive him. The thought made her insides churn uncomfortably. It may have been the work of Zanza, but he did not have to make himself a part of her family before stabbing her, and her people, in the _back_.

“Why?” Riki is on her desk now, small paws holding his own letter as his other set of larger, hand-like appendages flail about, “Riki not _understaaand_!”

“I do not understand, either, Riki,” the Empress replies, her cold, cerulean eyes focusing on the curtains to her left, “But it is what Shulk feels is best. And _as his friends_ , we should respect that.” Her last few words come out terribly annoyed. Of course Alvis would show up only to take Shulk away. Had he even thought of coming back to--? No. No, no, no. She did not want to see him. Ever. In fact, she felt sorry that Shulk had chosen to spend so much time only in that _creature’s_ company. Stupid, not to mention reckless. Had he even taken into account his responsibilities? His duties to his people? If something were to happen…

Riki’s concern tears her from her thoughts. “Is Melly okay? Melly look sad.”

She realizes she is frowning, her brow creased in anxiety and frustration. Summoning her most indifferent expression, Melia Antiqua inhales and exhales deeply, straightening in her chair before simply standing up. The feet of the large piece of furniture screech on the smooth floor below. The chair belonged to her father before her, and, despite its size and her small stature, it was comforting. And haunting. “I am fine, Riki. Do you not have Heropon duties to see to?”

The Nopon blinks, eventually bouncing up once in realization. “Oh! Yes! Chief ask Heropon Riki for something… but Riki not remember. Riki go back to village and see!” He bounds off her desk, heading for the door. Melia was glad for his unspoken understanding. Riki spent the most time with her, besides Sharla, and had become very accustomed to her moods because of it.

Before taking his leave, however, he stops at the entrance to her office. Looking back up at his friend, he smiles, large eyes positively shining. “Melly come visit Oka and Littlepons soon, okay? Soon!”

Melia hugs her arms across her chest, palms rubbing her elbows absentmindedly. “Alright, Riki. I will.”

\--

He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t breathe or _think_ – where was he? The only thing he was even vaguely sure of was something, some _one_ , keeping him steady. Keeping him tethered to whatever plain of reality was still intact beneath him. And as soon as the sensation had washed over him, it disappeared, and Shulk was himself again.

And he was falling.

Gasping, his free hand flies out to grasp whatever is closest to keep him steady. Fingers clutch tightly onto faux fur, and he feels a hand at the small of his back. Eyes wide, he finally whirls back to his reality. One where Alvis is pulling him towards himself, and he thinks it is an embrace before he is being swung around, away from a cliff’s edge. The Homs’ hand only clings to his companion’s jacket for a moment longer before loosening after the reassurance of stable ground.

“I did warn you,” the seer says, a smile evident in his voice as Shulk stumbles back a few steps.

“Th – did you..? Did we just _teleport_?” he finds himself surprisingly out of breath; a rush of adrenaline has left his heart pounding. He was used to the transporters that littered Alcamoth, but this was astoundingly different, considering their similar motivations. Get from point A to point B. The _existential crisis_ bit had never been a part of his travels throughout the High Entian capital.

“Indeed. How do you feel?”

“How do I _feel_? That was terrifying!”

The seer frowns. “I am sorry it was such an unpleasant experience for you.”

Shulk feels a pang of regret for his phrasing. “No, no. I—I’m just… not used to it is all. A little more _warning_ would have been nice.”

“I will make note of it for the future.”

The blond clears his throat, finally deciding to look around. “So where…” Words fade from the forefront of his mind, though his mouth still hangs open with unsaid questions.

It was Colony Nine, and, yet, not at all. The small town, once nestled securely into the Bionis’ calf, was sloping south at a horribly precarious angle. The only reason Shulk recognized the colony at all was because of his history with it. He knew Colony Nine like the back of his hand – he could point out where the research labs were, even looking upon it in such disarray. And that is when it hits him: horrible homesickness and sadness at seeing his childhood upturned, and in pieces. The air is gone from his lungs once more as he stares out onto the wreckage, his throat dry as he attempts to sort out the mess of feelings deep in his stomach.

Something is cupped around his shoulder. He does not look, but he knows it is Alvis’ attempt at comfort. “I thought it best to bring you to your home, first and foremost. I apologize if it is upsetting to see it this way.”

“…No,” he digs his hands into his pockets, fingers curling into loose fists, “It’s okay. Thank you, Alvis. I probably would have asked to see it eventually, anyway.”

The other’s hand leaves his shoulder, and Alvis begins to walk forward, effortlessly striding across the rocky terrain. Taking the hint to follow, Shulk begins trailing after him, hardly able to take his eyes off the devastated city below – and it is because of this that the Homs keeps tripping on the uneven ground. Alvis made it look so easy. But then again, most everything Alvis does is easy to him. After a moment, Shulk makes sense of where exactly he is walking: it is the very side of the one of many mountains that encircled the colony.

Shulk’s hometown was built into a crevice in the Bionis’ calf, for it seemed like the safest place to settle in, all things considered. But now that the Titan lay sunken into the waters below, body in shambles, the formations had crumbled in on themselves. The land had shifted, and the buildings below had since slid violently down towards the sea depths, gravity taking most of the town’s lake water with it. Even stranger a sight, with the bottom of the lake exposed to the light and heat, it seemed as though Agora shore had been extended all the way to the far corners of area. Plant life was left to decompose in unfamiliar environmental conditions, and Shulk didn’t even want to think about what had become of the creatures that had once called this place home.

The Bionis’ mass was far too large to be completely submerged in water, however because of the escaping Ether, the ocean was slowly eroding the land beneath the town. It would not be long before the entire leg simply collapsed from Ether deficiency. The heavy metal buildings of the Colony, along with the many bridges that connected the town to the mainland, broken and weighing down in the soft lakebed below, surely didn’t help the situation, either.

Shulk gave it a few decades at most; though that was without the proper data calculations.

In his thinking, he stumbles once more, but manages to catch himself before face planting into a particularly jagged set of boulders. When the blond raises his gaze, Alvis is far ahead, looking back at him with brows raised. “Coming along alright?” the seer asks, and Shulk quickly nods whilst steadying himself on the rough terrain. He was glad he chose to bring his heavier boots for the trip – they were perfect for climbing.

“Where are we going?” heir says, finally catching up to his travel companion, glad the man had decided to actually wait for him. Walking side-by-side, Shulk feels more inclined to pay attention to where he walks, so as not to take Alvis down with him should he trip again.

“Up the mountain. There has been a cave in at Tephra.”

He blinks, glancing over at Alvis. They just teleported no problem, but now they were going to traverse this unstable mountain? There are many dangerous variables that come immediately to mind, however the most _unpleasant_ one is falling face-first into an Ether river. This makes him remember something.

“…The Ether. The Ether levels here are _incredibly_ hazardous—how are we—?”

“They are not life threatening here,” Alvis explains plainly, “However, should you somehow descend into the sea, you would perish.”

Shulk swallows. “Right.”

“You should not worry, Shulk,” the seer is looking at him now, eyes softer than before, “You will be safe in my company.”

For some reason, this makes the heir feel a bit better about the expedition itself, not just the situation at hand. Though there were many things Shulk did not know about Alvis, there is a sense of security in his mysterious omnipotence. He supposed it had something to do with having trust in a being who knew infinitely more than anyone else; _faith_ , perhaps. Besides, it was easy to find comfort in the other’s gentle demeanor. He was always very sure of himself – everything he said held an air of confidence and truth. _He would be safe in Alvis’ company_ , presented, and taken as, fact.

“Okay,” he hears himself say, but it does not register right away. Catching himself staring back at Alvis, he snaps to attention, an embarrassed, red color dusting his cheeks. “S-so, are we walking all the way there? Why not teleport? Like before?”

Alvis’ brows raise in mild surprise. “I assumed you would not want to go through the same ordeal as before so soon after the first.”

“Oh, yeah,” the Homs nods, remembering his less-than-enjoyable out of body experience, “Well it isn’t as if I haven’t hiked before.” He examines the landscape ahead, thinking of how Reyn would surely challenge him to a race up the incline of shifted stone. One of them would probably injure themselves in the process, but it would make for a good story. He was sure he would never hear the end of it from Fiora, in between her bubbly chuckles.

There is an ache of homesickness all of the sudden, but he shrugs it off.

The rock below, though slanted and untrodden, is not impossible traverse, and Shulk soon finds himself getting used to the odd way the earth is formed. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought gravity were on the fritz and he was walking freely at such a bizarre, obtuse angle. It is hard to quit glancing over at his fallen home entirely, a strange feeling of failure settling in his stomach. He knew it was irrational – everyone would be better off in the new world. No _gods_ or _titans_ to choose their futures for them. It was a world founded in the belief that everyone had a choice. And yet, the feeling persists. He’d had similar thoughts back home, but having the mess he wished for presented in front of himself made it worse.

“Alvis,” he says quietly, after a moment’s consideration in speaking up at all, “do you think…it was _good_? My decision, I mean.”

The pause before Alvis responds seems like a lifetime. “Given the circumstances, it was all you could do. It was what you thought right,” he glances over at Shulk, silvery eyes akin to a cat’s in curiosity, “Do you doubt yourself?”

Arms fold across his chest, lips pursing. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t really discussed the subject in depth with anyone, for the thought made him nervous and unsure. Everyone seemed happy enough, and _regret_ for his wish did not come without its share of selfishness.

There is a shift in clothing, and, looking over, Shulk can see the seer has contently folded his hands behind his back. “What is done, is done, Shulk. There is no use in harboring regrets for losses that could not be helped,” it is like the man is reading his mind, like always, “Your people are free of a predetermined way of life.”

“But that way of life was _home_ ,” Shulk replies, frustration tinging the ends of his words, “I just feel like I’ve…I’ve uprooted lives. There was cultural history here; generations of science and development and—and now it’s just _here_. Rotting.”

“Zanza was a man of little appreciation of such things if they did not concern himself,” Alvis begins. The sky overhead slowly starts to darken, hues of burgundy and marigold dusting the horizon. “The world as you knew it would have been destroyed, but not like this. Nothing would have been left, not even the people you saved.”

“I know, b--”

“Culture is preserved with people, not land or material items.” As they near a larger set of boulders, Alvis climbs up first, promptly offering Shulk a hand before he can even get a leg up. The other is stronger than he looks, and the blond finds himself easily pulled up the ledge, and within inches of his companion’s face. Abashed, Shulk steps back quickly as a poised smile spreads across Alvis’ features. Seer continues, voice even. “It is preserved and carried on by the very people who survive to pass on that culture. People adjust; I have seen it many times before. Do not feel contrite on account of a world Zanza would have left to rot regardless.”

Shulk retracts his arm, and flinches inwardly upon realizing he is still holding onto other’s fingers. “—Thank you.” It is all he can think to say as he slips his hand back into his pocket, the opposite adjusting his bag. “I guess I’m just a little homesick.”

“Understandable,” the seer nods, “But let us continue on -- we will be nearing our destination soon.”

\--

The sound of a fork scraping across a ceramic plate’s surface catches Sharla’s attention for the last time. She looks up to Reyn across the table, who has hardly touched his food. Clearly, something was horribly wrong, and he was in no hurry to discuss it. Brown eyes look over to Juju, who is thinking the same thing telling from his concerned expression. Finally, Sharla clears her throat, carefully sinking the prongs of her fork into a piece of baked potato.

“Reyn? Is everything okay?” She knew it wasn’t. This was about Shulk, and when it had something to do with Shulk being put in a potentially life-threatening situation, it was anything _but_ okay.

He grunts in response. The sharp shooter sighs. “Reyn, Shulk will be fine. I know you don’t trust him, but Alvis is on our side. Or, at the very least, Shulk’s side. He wouldn’t let anything happen.” When the larger Homs does not reply a second time, Juju speaks up, his voice small and worried.

“It’s only for a while. And I’ll bet he’ll have great stories!” his expression is bright and innocent in his attempts to cheer up his friend, “I’ve thought a lot about what it’s probably like over there. All the Ether and _oh_ I’ll bet Colony Six is completely upside-down. Wish I was there!”

“Not happening in my lifetime,” Sharla mumbles, chewing on her food.

“You get what I mean,” the younger groans, and looks back to Reyn, “He’ll be back before you know it. You…you just need a project! Like me!”

His older sister smiles at her plate, thinking of how often Juju traveled to New Makna with Riki, helping the Nopon build homes and integrate various technology into their way of life. The merging of the High Entia’s and Machina’s sciences had opened an incredible amount of doors to societal development, and Juju desperately wanted to lend a hand in any way he could. Perhaps a project would be good for Reyn – it had helped Juju plenty. At least, when he was in the safe hands (paws?) of Oka and Riki.

“What if I don’t want a project?” Reyn responds, brow furrowing as he stares at his untouched food.

“Then we’ll just come up with something else to get you to stop moping about,” Sharla says easily, waving her fork in her company’s direction.

“I’m not _moping_.”

“You’re definitely moping.”

“C’mon Reyn,” Juju chimes in before his friend can get another argumentative word in edgewise, “Come to New Makna with me tomorrow. You don’t have to do anything, right?”

A stubborn frown settles onto his expression before Reyn finally gives in, clearly reluctant to do anything to make himself feel better. He was angry, most likely at Shulk, and also very conflicted about it. However it was nice to see him humoring Juju.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, stuffing his mouth with potatoes soon after, continuing with his mouth full, “But if I get shtuck _babythitting_ becausth of _oo_ — _”_

“Swallow, Reyn. No one can understand you,” Sharla grins tiredly.

“I understood him just fine,” Juju chirps, looking at his sister proudly, as if comprehending bad manners was a special talent.

“Don’t encourage him.”

\--

Twilight engulfs every inch of the Bionis' form, the fractured earth stretching mangled shadows over each and every broken crevice in the massive Titan's form. The heavens had since abandoned their warmer hues, instead bathing the travelers in deep shades of indigo and violet. Alvis had spent millennia observing the stars; watching how they sparked, burned for a few billion years, eventually snuffing out like all beautiful things do. Though, implying such creatures died so easily was an injustice. Stars never went quietly. They were gaseous, reactive, and terribly persistent in their goal to stay formed into a single, colossal being. (They had gravity to thank for that.) In most cases, stars expanded until finally bursting, an amazing array of color staining the weightless void of space like ink in a glass of water. A Super Nova. Though in others, their mass is so dense that they simply collapse in on themselves, betrayed by their own gravity. These scenarios do not make their deaths any less beautiful, however; only more violent and immense.

Alvis smiles to himself, amused by how easy it is to equate Shulk to a star — dazzling, energetic, and immensely stronger than many of the scattered forces around him. He briefly muses on how the boy's Super Nova would look. Silver hues trail back to the Homs in question, blatant staring met with Shulk's upturned head. He is stargazing. Alvis cannot blame him. It is a gorgeous night for it. But it would be a shame for the activity to be spoiled by a broken ankle.

"Watch your step, Shulk," says Alvis, tone lacking any sense of urgency.

A beat passes, and the boy very nearly walks into the upcoming hole that the seer had, albeit vaguely, warned him about. Blond makes a noise and sidesteps, blinking away the wonder in his eyes.

“Oh—thank you.” With his nose turned towards the ground now, Alvis thinks he looks downtrodden somehow, what with the reality of their precarious path ahead having arisen once more. Seeing fit to break the silence, and the gloom tinging Shulk’s thoughtful features, entity speaks up, gaze slowly moving from the Homs to the faint, blue glow just over the horizon.

“We are getting close. And before you ask any questions regarding the safety of high concentrations of Ether,” Alvis drawls, smiling pleasantly, “Allow me to reiterate: you are free from any harm in my company.”

There is a stifled chuckle, and Alvis raises an eyebrow as Shulk replies, “I know. Are you going to tell me what exactly we’re going t—”

The seer’s smile widens by a hair. Up the shifted rock formations, there has been a burst of cerulean mist into the air. It hisses as it explodes from the stone below, drops of liquefied crystal dotting their path. The glowing Ether paints a reflection of the night sky at their feet, and, though it is a lovely sight, Alvis finds watching Shulk’s reaction to be far more entertaining. The Ether and the heir’s wide eyes nearly match in hue.

“You…You said this was Tephra, right? Tephra Cave? Is that..?”

“The cave in,” Alvis finishes the thought easily, “It is Vilia Lake. Or rather, what remains of it. Let us see.”

Alvis begins to lag behind as Shulk hurries in his careful stepping, clearly eager to see what had become of the labyrinth of tunnels within the mountainous walls that had once surrounded his home. Tephra Cave had been the boy’s first region to traverse when setting off on his journey for revenge. His friend had nearly died here. It is also where Alvis had made his first appearance. Though only having come to the boy in a dream, Alvis fancied counting it as their first personal meeting, despite the more proper introductions in Makna Forest. Surely it does not get more _personal_ than one’s own subconscious.

The Homs stops in his tracks a few feet head, flaxen hair frizzy and unkempt from the humid environment the Ether had created. His company moves ahead of him, as though the other's sudden stop had not been a signal to cease moving forward. No, Alvis continues on until he is at the very edge of the rock slide, heeled boots clicking effortlessly on the Ether-stained stone. Head lowers and the entity dares to lean forward on his toes, peaking over into the devastation below.

Vilia Lake had been reason for pride for the peoples of Bionis' leg. Although not quite as dramatic as the Ether showers of the Bionis' head, the lake had its own, subtle charm. While it produced useful crystals, it also provided stunning scenery. Grey cave walls were lit up by the dancing light refractions of the water sitting below, and pouring in from above. The solid formations of Ether that lined the edges of the area offered a radiant light source, electrifying shades of turquoise and teal echoing off the dark, vine covered pillars that upheld the ceiling. Now, with the massive amount of movement having destroyed those walls, the light beamed freely in the outside air. The entire opening to the collapsed lake was a beacon into the sky, the escaping Ether steaming in reaction to irregular circumstances. All structure within Tephra Cave seemed to have crumbled in on itself. Boulders piled deep at the bottom of the wreckage, and what was left of the lake water was streaming in between the cracks in the rock and broken, vaporous crystal.

A gust of wind blows Alvis' bangs back from his cheeks as he senses Shulk hesitantly approaching.

"This is incredible."

Words are rather breathless as Shulk utters them, and Alvis looks over just as he is shifting for better balance. Seer extends a hand, wrapping fingers around the other's wrist to hold him steady. The blond blinks, but smiles gratefully, his attention soon diverting back down to the cave in.

"The mist that always hovered over Eryth sea — is this the same concept?" Shulk asks, his gaze darting around the scene below.

"In a way, yes," Alvis answers, his free hand moving to his hip, "The amount of Ether at the Bionis' head dramatically exceeds the amount at the leg. With that much Ether gathered in one place, it is constantly reacting to itself, and the open environment around it. Hence the mist. However here, the Ether has been confined in a single type of closed off space. With its typical conditions having been destroyed, the collected Ether here is reacting violently to the change. It is simply the result of such a sudden adjustment in habitat, while the conditions of Eryth are the usual ongoings of saturated amounts of unsolidified Ether."

Glancing over, the boy seems to be mulling over what he has said. Alvis could safely say he quite liked that look of his: Shulk's _thinking_ face. The way his brow creased, lips pursing and parting occasionally to be absentmindedly chewed (it was a bad habit, but somewhat endearing, all things considered.)

Another burst of vapor shoots up from the depths, and Alvis feels Shulk jump, promptly adjusting his hold on the other's arm. The Homs looks over to him, his frown offended, but his eyes playful and relieved. "I wasn't going to _fall in_."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I have better balance than that."

"Would you like me to release you, then?"

A reluctant grin. "No, you just don't have to hold on so tight. Here." He wriggles his arm free from the seer's fingers, shifting to grasp his hand instead. When he straightens out, he appears to be feigning confidence. Alvis' half-lidded gaze positively shines with amusement.

"Much better," the smaller says, and slowly begins turning away, pulling Shulk along with him as he starts walking the perimeter of the opening's edge. "You will be happy to find out that we will be making camp near here."

"Camp?" his voice sounds genuinely confused.

"Yes, camp. You will need your rest for tomorrow." Had he forgotten about basic needs already? They had not even traveled for that long.

"Oh. Right." There is a smile in his tone. Alvis returns it.

\--

Alvis’ idea of a camp was pretty spot on, which was surprising, considering Shulk couldn’t fathom a situation in which the pampered, aristocratic man would ever _need_ to camp out. Though, he supposed he was only thinking of this form. There were plenty of possibilities if one were to take into account just how old, and powerful Alvis actually was. The thought makes his head spin, and he quickly dismisses it.

A fire is already crackling when they circle around a larger formation of boulders north of the cave in. Though the need for balancing reassurance had passed, Alvis did not let go of Shulk’s hand until they had reached the camp. The blond didn’t necessarily have a problem with it, for it was dark and therefore harder to see his way across the disjointed land. He figured Alvis simply wanted to keep track of him, as silly as that sounded. Holding hands also added another layer of security, and with it being just the two of them, Shulk would gladly welcome any and all affirmation of safety.

Rocks and rubble circle around their campsite, though just as the Homs thinks he is about to take a nap on the jagged edges of the mountain, he spots a small cot on the other side of the fire. Seeing such comfortable spot to settle down suddenly reminds his body of the fatigue of hiking late into the night, and Shulk sighs in relief, one hand going to the strap of his bag. He sets his things onto the stone and immediately sits down. His feet are more sore than he thought they would be, and he supposes the uneven terrain is to blame.

“Tired?”

Heir looks up to see Alvis taking a seat on a larger rock just across the fire from him. He smiles, running a hand through his hair, brow furrowing at how both sweat and humidity had ruined its usual form. “More than I realized. Did you set this all up?”

“I did.”

“You certainly know how to build a fire.” Blue hues admire the way the flames lick up into the air, sparks dancing overhead, akin to the twinkling Ether stars. When Alvis does not respond, Shulk directs his attention to his bag, unzipping it and digging a hand in to find one of his stored water bottles. As he drinks, the seer speaks up again.

“Oh, should you run out of your own provisions, or have need for anything, do not shy away from asking.”

Lowering his head, he sees that Alvis is sitting with his legs crossed, leaned forward with his chin resting in his folded hands. He is watching Shulk rather intently, and the awareness of such almost makes him forget to swallow the water still sitting in his mouth. “--Er, thank you, Alvis.”

A thought occurs to him, then – did Alvis need to sleep? There was only one cot here, and if he was just going to sit there and _watch_ him all night, he wasn’t sure how much sleep he’d actually get. Clearing his throat, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the bottle delicately in his lap.

“Are you going to rest?” Shulk asks timidly, one brow rising.

“At this point, no. Perhaps later on in our journey I will take a respite with you.”

“So, you do need to sleep?”

Alvis smiles. “Not in the same sense as you are thinking. Your consciousness and mine work in different ways, and therefore have different characteristic needs when it comes to such things as rest.”

Shulk nods, understanding the answer well enough. He places the water bottle aside and turns back to his bag for the food he had decided to bring along. Mostly Sharla’s cooking, as he and Reyn had been going over more and more frequently since neither of them could cook to save their lives. Of course, nothing could compare to Fiora’s cooking, but they wouldn’t tell Sharla that. Not that he thought she would mind – she was well aware her skills were lackluster. She was a field medic, not a chef. As he munches on a leftover, toasted meat and cheese sandwich, he wonders if he remembered to pack dance apples.

His small meal passes the time, at the very least, and the sound of the fire is calming. Alvis has since busied himself with the sky and Shulk finds himself doing the same once he is finished eating. Deciding to make himself more comfortable, he lays down on his back, eyes wide as he takes in the endless array of space spilling over him. He could easily lose himself in such a sight, completely awestruck by the vastness of it all.

“Alvis,” the blond says, breaking their comfortable silence, “do you ever feel…small?” What a strange question to ask someone like Alvis. To ask the _Monado_ – probably the _largest_ thing in the entire world. The entire universe.

“Size can be such a subjective concept, don’t you think?” the other responds smoothly. There is no hint of mocking in his tone for a question Shulk thought very stupid once mulling it over. “Of course, physically, yes, I am very small. As are you,” the blond smiles at that, hands folding together on his stomach as Alvis continues, “But the true size of one being is not measured in the literal sense. Doing so would be discrediting all that makes that being what they are. Do you feel small, Shulk?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why is that?”

The heir shifts his arms, palms cupping his elbows. “I guess it just comes with being a Homs.” Probably programmed in by Zanza. To feel small; insignificant, and easily forgotten.

There is a pause, and Shulk finds himself closing his eyes, gently breathing in the night. “You are not just any Homs, Shulk.”

He smirks, though it is anything but smug.

“Although you are but one, small being in the world, what you have accomplished is worthy of all the space this universe has to offer.”

A blush warms his cheeks, and he chuckles out of lack of anything to say.

“Would you like to sleep? There is a blanket on the other side of the bed.”

Ignoring the offered blanket, Shulk rolls onto his side so as to face crackling fire, gaze looking up to Alvis, who is still sitting pretty on his makeshift throne. “What is it like being you?” His curiosity blurts out before he can give it any sort of silly-question filter. There is not a tinge of regret, however. He studies Alvis’ features while awaiting an answer, entranced by the way the flickering firelight shapes everything from his face, to his posture. He is not just sitting pretty – he _is_ pretty. Something blooms in his stomach, and it does nothing to help dampen the red color in his face.

As for his question, Alvis shows a sliver of teeth in a small grin. “Perhaps I will be able to give you an adequate answer later on. You should rest.”

He averts his open admiration when their eyes meet, the blond nodding and rolling over onto his back once more. “Night, Alvis.”

“Goodnight, Shulk.”


	3. Emerald Pools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long gap between chapters. Hopefully the length makes up for it. Thanks for sticking around! <3

Hair is stuck to his lips when he slips out of the warm lull of sleep. Shulk is face down, wrapped messily in a heavy blanket, and he is unsure if it is morning dew or sweat that clings to the back of his neck. The air is cold, he realizes, and it only makes him more reluctant to leave the safety of his cot. Shifting, he raises a hand to wipe his mouth – had he been drooling?

“Ah, you are awake.”

Alvis’ voice startles him, though he does not move to get up just yet. “Mmn.” An unintelligible response from a tired teenager.

“Well don’t just lay there,” there are sounds of shuffling feet behind him, “On your feet. There is more to see.”

 Finally, Shulk moves to sit up, and he already knows his hair is a disaster, along with the rest of his appearance. Embarrassment sets in, and he immediately begins his attempt at sorting unkempt blond locks. “Where—” he pauses, clearing his groggy throat, “Where to next?”

“The Bionis’ opposite knee. Until now, it has been beneath the sea supporting the Titan’s form,” the seer explains, circling around in front of him, one foot carefully stamping out a smoldering coal from the campfire, “Now it is exposed, just above sea’s surface.”

The opposite knee. Blinking, the Homs looks out to the early morning sky, in the direction of where such a location should be. A faint lavender color dusts the horizon, eventually fading into blue. Shulk squints. It is nearly impossible to see past the thick tuffs of clouds above. With his lack of a clear image of their eventual destination, he is forced to use his imagination. The drastically different environments of the Bionis’ arms comes to mind, and he wonders if the knees would be as contrasting. With that he realizes he had never even _considered_ the place as a conceivable location to visit (without some sort of underwater vehicle, anyway.) As far as he, and the rest of the Homs were concerned, the Bionis’ opposite leg hardly existed for any other purpose other than supporting the enormous Titan which they called home-- or…used to, rather.

Thoughts eventually recede at the noisy growl emitted from his stomach, and Shulk resigns himself to one of many small meals within his pack. Breakfast consists of a small container of assorted fruits, all varying in shape and color, and nuts specifically from Makna Forest. He recalls Riki generously gifting them to him, promising they were very filling and _give Hom Hom lots of energy for adventures_ , in his own words. The Heropon hadn’t been stretching the truth, Shulk later found, and now a small amount accompanied his morning routine each day. The blond chews a small handful pensively while packing his things, only pausing when sorting out what to do with the rest of the items provided by Alvis. The blanket is a crumpled lump atop his bed, and just as he is tempted to fold it out of polite habit, he is prompted by a low sound from the seer. Shifting, he looks over to see the smaller man has his back to him, his arms akimbo, as usual. The morning Ether light tinges his silhouette with a luminescent golden halo.

“We will be taking the same method of transportation as before,” he turns his head, so only his profile is shown; the heir can tell he is smiling, “Will you be alright to travel this way?”

Clearly the prospect of Shulk’s potential panic regarding teleportation amused him. He forces a frown. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you for the warning.”

“You are quite welcome. Whenever you are ready.”

His brows raise, and he examines their immediate surroundings. “What about--”

“Do not worry about the camp. It is only temporary.”

The Homs ponders on the idea of the various objects around him simply phasing out of existence, as if they were never there in the first place. Well, he thinks, Alvis _is_ the Monado, so such a phenomenon should be expected, but that does not make the concept any easier to grasp. One of many happenings to grow used to in the next few days. With a huff, he begins to walk over to Alvis’ side, blue eyes quickly darting about to get a good, mental picture of the scenery. Their camp is nothing notable, just more of the desaturated, rocky landscape that seems to go on for ages.

The collapse of Vilia Lake, while stunningly beautiful, is simply one of many casualties here on the Bionis’ fallen body. To have seen Tephra Cave intact and on level footing seemed like a privilege. Many of the Homs from his hometown had never travelled farther than the ruins, much less up and out onto the Bionis’ leg. It had been out of revenge, the blond reminds himself. Malicious intent towards a people Shulk and his friend knew nothing of. Looking back, the idea of basing such a momentous journey on vengeance seemed…ignorant. And childish.  His actions were understandable, but by no means righteous, as he had once thought. It is in the past, but he cannot seem to let go of the dissatisfaction with himself over the fact.

Calling upon Alvis’ reassurances soothes his anxieties, if only marginally. The sight of Colony 9 in shambles haunts him – it is a scene he will not soon forget. Destruction left a bad taste in his mouth, regardless of what it concerned, but this particular instance would leave a lasting ache.

Once the fog of his own thought process begins to dissipate, Shulk straightens his posture whilst focusing hard on the task ahead. Traverse, survey, and _learn_. “Alright,” he says, an air of resolve in his tone, “I’m ready.” Looking over at the seer, he sees his hand is already out for him to take. He finds himself smiling uneasily as he clasps their palms together, sincerely not looking forward to the ride ahead.

There is a beat before the Homs feels himself lurched in all directions and held firmly in place at the same time. He cannot open his eyes, though the lack of sight is not a loss. His senses, everything from the muted awareness of touch to the soundless ambience assaulting his ears, has been heightened. He finds that he wants to move. He wants to reach out and run his fingers through the thick air. He wants to observe this state of being more _thoroughly_ , not just be a powerless passenger. He wishes to understand. Outside forces keep him from doing so, and a part of him feels as though such an act is for his own good. For his safety. If he could just _open his eyes_ —

The distinct, salty smell of the ocean accompanies his involuntary gasp for breath, as if he had been submerged deep within the space between their previous and present locations. As his eyes finally open on command, the blond is temporarily blinded by the light, and he curses under his breath at the short burst of pain it brings his head. He does not stumble or fall, thankfully, and he soon discovers it is because of Alvis’ hands securely at his shoulders.

“ _Bionis_ ,” he mumbles, blinking dazedly, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“It is difficult for both body and mind to make the trip without a few bumps,” Alvis explains, fingers sliding down his arms, eventually retracting their touch, “It will get better, I assure you.”

“I’ll, uh, take your word for it,” he adjusts the strap of his bag, choosing to ignore the other’s disregard for personal space. The sensation of traveling alongside Alvis fades slowly, though an odd feeling in his stomach remains. Attempting to regain his bearings, he clears his throat and moves to turn away, gaze scoping out the new, unexplored area.

They are astonishingly close to the sea, which would explain the thick oceanic smell. So close, in fact, that the ground on which he stands is _damp_ \-- darkened by what is surely a recent wave from the waters surrounding them at all sides. The knowledge of the dangerous Ether seeping into it only worsens his growing concern. Pale hues scan the terrain. The smooth and level appearance it exhibits is surprising, considering the disarray he had observed previously. It is not without its oddities, however, as most the walkable path ahead is utterly covered with thick layers of algae and other sea vegetation. The side of the Bionis’ knee must have been lively before the collapse; surely, this place had been as colorful as Makna Forest. Now, it is inert, and curiously desaturated,  the plant life left to dry out in the morning light. He looks down to his boots. A strange plant he doesn’t recognize is stuck around the edges of his feet. Its sickly, teal color hardly contrasts against the stone below. Dead, much like the rest of this place.

Ether deficiency. _Of course_ , because everything is draining into the _sea_. He feels strangely claustrophobic, despite the incredibly open area. One step into that water, and he’s done for. Shulk forces a repetitive reminder: _he is safe with Alvis. He is safe._

“If you are finished gaping like a common brog, I suggest we get moving.”

He dazedly watches Alvis walk past him, the usual click of his heeled shoes muffled in the moss below. Shulk breaks his worried stare and turns to swiftly follow suit behind him, the new direction, and elevation from the knee, offering a grand view of the Bionis’ calf. He hardly notices the way his shoes stick to the vegetation as he struggles to take it all in at once. The land is broken there, unlike the side of the knee where he walks now, and his lips part in awe as he analyzes its structure.

“It looks a little like the colony,” Shulk muses out loud, mostly to himself, “If the colony had been underwater for several thousand years.” Of course, he refers to Colony 9 at its present state. Just more destruction; it all looks the same, come to think of it.

This area is foreign, and while the earth presents many similar properties as regions he has more experience with, he is suddenly struck with the same giddy queasiness that consumed him on his journey with the others. This is new, not only to him, but surely to any Homs (or intelligent life for that matter) in the last few _millennia_. The trek ahead is _breathtakingly_ massive and… terrifyingly close. He swallows slowly as he advances forward, gravitating closer to his guide.

“What was it like before?” heir asks, his eyes trained on the path ahead as he struggles to keep balance on the slimy terrain. “Before the Titans fought, I mean.”

Several moments pass before Alvis responds. “At one time, both the Bionis’ legs flourished with life,” he turns his face up towards the sky as he continues, “There were clans of many different species, all evolving at different rates, changing with the land or changing the land themselves. … Zanza often encouraged them to build, though never create. Always very adamant about that – _he_ was the creator.” He shakes his head slowly, his bangs clouding any view of his eyes for a moment. “ _Originality_ was hardly an accepted concept if it did not come from him.”

Shulk glares down at the ground. He doesn’t think he will ever come to understand how the god thought. Such a brand of arrogant foolishness is nearly incomprehensible.

The sound of waves crashing in on either side of him fills their gradual lack of conversation. Glancing behind, the heir attempts to busy himself with orientating his position relative to some place he knew. Colony Six. It is too far to discern exactly where the town must be from here, but judging from the way the Bionis’ leg curves, he pinpoints a specific spot in the middle of some thick clouds. It is a shot in the dark, but it helps him sort out several jumbled ideas of his location in the world. A force of habit derived from his travels; he had become all too used to the compulsive desire for direction.

Giving his full attention to the jagged cliffs that make up the calf once more, he comes to realize something quite _crucial_ : they are moving southwards. _Directly_ on a path _down_. Away from the elevated knee and towards the upper curve of the calf. Towards the sea.

“We aren’t going swimming, are we?” he says, arms temporarily raising out to his sides as he narrowly avoids tripping over a series of coral-like plants. The question is posed as a joke, and he sincerely hopes the man takes it as such.

“Perhaps, if we are not careful.”

Shulk stares at the back of his head, incredulous. Did he not state earlier if he were to fall into the sea, he would _perish_? “Alvis,” he replies, “Where are we going?” He tries not to let his memories betray the sight of Xord descending into an Ether river. What a horrible way to go.

“There is a chasm where the leg has broken in two,” the seer answers plainly, as if it were common knowledge, “We will be crossing it, and entering the calf from the cliff side.”

“I don’t understand. Won’t we be too close to the sea? The Ether—”

“Shulk.” He stops, and the blond nearly collides with his back. He blinks as the other turns to face him, silver brows raised expectantly. “Do you not trust me?”

“I— _yes_ , I do, but you said earlier—”

“Good. Then let us hurry. A large wave will be sweeping over fairly soon, and it would be best to avoid if possible.”

\--

 Vanea nearly hits the topmost part of her head on the doorway’s upper arch. The Homs she has been looking for should be in this room, if she was directed correctly. Dark red eyes scan the stacks of crates and boxes, all varying in size and color. The musky smell of fresh produce and cut timber assaults her senses, though it is not unpleasant. She, along with many of her other Machina brethren, quite enjoy analyzing the various natural scents native to the Bionis. One smell Vanea particularly enjoys is the smell of grass and dirt after a rainstorm. She had experienced it a few times since the merge of their peoples, yet every time it feels entirely new.

Circling around a large collection of metal crates, she finally finds the _Hero Hom_ himself, sitting atop a box of vegetables, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. This storage room is an easy hiding place if one wished to be alone. Unfortunately, Vanea has business to discuss, and such things are not easily hidden from. She’s tried.

“There you are,” metallic steps slow to a halt in front of her small friend, greyish digits finding her hips, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you know. Well. Almost everywhere. .. In any case, I must speak with you on trading procedures. Specifically the ones between the _Nopon_ and the _Machina_. Some of the—Dunban? Are you listening?” The man has not even lifted his head to look at her.

“Yes, yes,” Dunban heaves a sigh and folds the piece of paper he holds, promptly cramming it into his shirt pocket as he moves to stand.

“Is something troubling you?”

“I – _no_. It’s fine. I’m sure it will be fine.” He combs strands of dark hair out of his face, revealing a hardened, yet worried expression.

“Has something happened?”

“It’s Shulk,” frustration ebbs his tone, “He’s gone off with _that man_. You remember Alvis? I believe you met him when he joined us on the fallen arm.”

“Ah, the High Entian seer, yes.” In truth, Vanea had heard that name mentioned more than once in the past, particularly from Lady Meyneth. She would never divulge his significance to her; only that he was an ‘ _old friend’_. She remembers the sadness that would befall her mistress should he ever come into conversation. When she had finally met him in the village, she often found herself aching to ask him about Lady Meyneth in private – however he never seemed to be in an answering mood. Brow creasing, she breaks away from her thoughts, and continues. “What of him?”

“ _Alvis_ ,” disapproval laces his words, “has invited Shulk on holiday t—” he cuts himself off. Vanea’s gaze narrows as he turns away. “--They’ve already left, according to the letter he sent me.” The Homs looks ready to engage in combat with one of the many wooden planks he now faces. “I don’t understand – does he not know how dangerous it is to…go off with _him_?”

There is something her friend is not telling her, but she decides not to pry. For now. Fingers come to lace in front of herself, long claw-like nails clicking as they pass by each other. “I’m sure Shulk knows what he has gotten himself into.”

“He’s just a _boy_ , Vanea,” he throws his good hand up in exasperation, “He has no idea what he’s doing.”

“You say this even as he has defeated a god?”

“He was not alone then,” Dunban quiets his tone, his hair acting as a curtain to conceal his emotions, “But he’s alone now, and _that thing_ has no concept or intention of--”

There is a short period of silence after Dunban cuts himself off, and a thousand questions fill the Machina’s head in that small amount of time. “Listen,” she begins, her shoulders straightening out, “it was Shulk’s choice to go. And I’m positive he will make a safe return. It’s _Shulk_.” A placid smile graces her platinum features. “And while I _know_ you are not giving me all the details you could be, I know it is not without good reason. Though I do expect to be briefed completely on the situation, for the sake of my own curiosity.”

“It’s a long story, Vanea.” He has since turned back towards his friend, and there is a certain fatigue in his dark eyes.

“Good,” she replies cheerily, “I love stories. You can fill me in after we discuss trading procedures.” At this, she begins heading towards the exit, happy to hear Dunban’s heavy footsteps in tow behind her.

\--

The crack in the Bionis’ leg runs deep. It has split into a slowly crumbling V-shape, half the side of the slanted calf gradually disappearing into the water’s depths. Barely visible near the horizon there is what appears to be the heel (the ankle, perhaps?) peaking just over crashing waves. The curved landmass can be easily mistaken for some sort of oddly-placed island in the middle of the sea. It is not too far to travel to, despite perspective displaying it as a seemingly unreachable dot at the end of the leg.

As they approach the chasm’s edge, Shulk drifts closer to Alvis’ side, the impending grandeur of the colossal fracture causing his gut to twist wearily. A break in their mutual silence temporarily distracts him from his worries.

“Tell me what you know of the Giants, Shulk.” They are nearly shoulder-to-shoulder now, so his usual, mild tone is not lost in the surrounding ambiance. The Homs puzzles over the request for a moment before answering.

 A sinking feeling soon befalls his stomach as his memories draw up that which he wants to forget. He frowns, looking at the ground. “They’re extinct,” he begins, words somewhat deadpan compared to his usual enthusiasm for sharing knowledge, “They, ah, _were_ native to the Bionis, and… were very powerful. My friends and I came across many relics and ruins left behind by them and..” _And I killed the last of them._ Brows crease. He still hadn’t been able to reach any sort of closure regarding his old caretaker. He can hardly recall his _name_ without anger and heartache making his eyes sting. No one ever wanted to talk about him in length. The news had hurt _many_ people, not just Shulk, as he always felt the need to remind himself. D-- _His caretaker_ had been someone of significance all over the Bionis, it seemed. Such a fact only made his betrayal, and eventual death, cut deeper.

“The lack of what you know is understandable,” Alvis says. His voice is gentle, as if he does not wish to startle him out of his thoughts. “The Giants began dwindling long before records even note it. You may have found they had been hunted to extinction by spiders, yes?”

Shulk nods, just barely an indication for the other to continue. When he does not, the blond looks over to find him staring expectantly. Homs clears his throat. “The… They had a soothsayer who helped them take power back from the White Spiders. But when they died, the White Spiders began overtaking the Giants again, and…they were forced into hiding.”

“Good. What do you suppose became of them? The survivors.”

“Well,” the gears turning in his head ebb some of his melancholy away, “they could only hide away for so long. I imagine they were either _found_ , or…or they ran out of resources to sustain themselves.” _How grim_ , he thinks. It feels odd mulling over the _complete extinction_ of an entire race of people. While he does have his bouts of pessimism, Shulk tries to remain optimistic, for the most part. After all, the High Entia very well could have ended up like the Giants.

“A reasonable conclusion. Watch your step.”

He narrowly avoids a pothole in the ground at Alvis’ warning, promptly sidestepping only to stop in his tracks. Had they been walking that long? His gaze ahead travels from the bottom up, taking note of every crevice and crack in the earth towering above him. They are not _quite_ at the edge of the cliff, but they are far enough out that the heavy winds funneling in from the leg’s chasm have begun to redirect the flow of his hair. Right, then left, and then right again, in long gusts that bring the thick scent of the sea with them each time. The surface of the calf is no longer visible on account of their lower perspective, and Shulk finds himself having to lean his head back to take in the way the land stretches up towards the sky, seeming to arch over, much like the mountains on Gaur Plains. However, unlike those mountains, this formation is jagged and misshaped. It looks as though it may crumble in on itself at any moment.

“We shall be descending over the side," Alvis says, walking ahead, "The path down is safe. You have done your fair share of climbing, it should be no problem."

Shulk gives him a disbelieving look. "We're— this entire place looks _completely_ unstable. If I were to just throw a _rock_ , I’m willing to bet the entire place would cave in."

"It will be fine, Shulk. Come along."

The seer leads the very reluctant boy towards a series of boulders and, eventually, to the furthermost edge of where the knee and the calf have split in two. Looking over, he can see that the sea is filling in every crack and crevice of the cataclysm below. The height is dizzying. He forces his attention elsewhere before vertigo sets in, and catches sight of the very path Alvis had mentioned. Though, calling it a _path_ would imply it is easily traversed. This sorry excuse for a walkway is surely no larger than two feet wide, and appears to simply be a shelf that had been consequently shoved out of place into the open by the violent collapse of the Titan. Who knows how safe it actually is to navigate in these circumstances—?

\--Alvis.

Alvis knows.

The heir sets his jaw. The fact hardly makes him feel better, now that he is faced with the very-real, very- _fatal_ task at hand. Before he can say one more word against this particular portion of their journey, the other is slowly lowering himself down the side of the rocky terrace. Worry inadvertently settles in his chest. As irrational as it is, the thought of his companion slipping and plummeting to the depths below is enough to make him spring forward, carefully watching the way he moves. At least Shulk has on proper footwear – Alvis is still in his _heels_.

“There is nothing to fear,” he grunts, straightening once on somewhat level footing. Silver hues practically shine when they meet the Homs’ blue. There is something mischievous there – he isn’t sure if he likes it.

“Here goes nothing,” Shulk mumbles to himself, turning his back to the opposite side of the leg. He makes his way down to the ledge with a ginger demeanor, ensuring each step he takes possesses no risk of crumbling under his weight. The seer offers him a hand as he executes his final movements towards the path itself, and he accepts, finding it entertaining how much the gesture bares similarities to a princess exiting her carriage with assistance from one of her horsemen.

“—Thank you.” there is a beat of hesitance as he debates releasing his hand, the heir forcing himself to focus on Alvis and not the rushing sea below. It is unbearably loud, the combination of waves smashing against the sides of the cliffs and wind channeling fiercely through making it nearly impossible to hear his own thoughts.

Alvis’ words are washed out in the noise surrounding them, but it hardly matters as he tugs Shulk along, advancing them down the narrow pathway. Homs’ grasp on the other’s hand tightens, his opposite raising to trail fingers along the side of rocks to steady his pace. Despite his better judgment, he frequently casts paranoid glances southward. It’s difficult not to — it almost serves as a reminder to take caution with every step. Alvis, on the other hand, seems completely unconcerned with their perilous circumstances. The blond can tell he is taking slow strides on purpose, for Shulk's sake. He both appreciates, and envies his confidence.

Deciding not to bring about more anxiety, Shulk forces his eyes to fixate on certain points ahead. He is still clutching the seer's hand for dear life, even more so as the wind kicks up in pocketed bursts from all sides. This tether keeps him grounded, in all senses of the word. Curiosity gnaws at his gut, but it is pointless to ask questions, much less carry out conversation in these conditions. This only makes his desire for knowledge regarding their destination that much more urgent. Will they be encountering some sort of bridge ahead? Alvis had said they would be crossing the chasm, yet all they seem to be doing is hugging the inside of the cliff's gradual curve. Surveying eyes narrow in a seemingly useless effort to make out a clearer view of their surroundings. It is then that an off color snags his attention. It is a paler hue than natural greys of the leg, and as they begin to round the corner of a series of outstanding boulders, he swiftly shifts to rub his dry eyes with the back of his hand. He must ensure it is not the Ether playing tricks on him.

The source of his shock is still far in the distance, however the mere sight of them sends a wave of chills throughout his body.

At first sight, the massive statues bare a strong resemblance to the ancient architecture of the High Entia in Satorl Marsh. However the simple fact that their sheer scale allows them to reach the other side of the chasm leads Shulk to believe they are several times the size.

Slowing his pace, he tugs on his guide's arm. "Alvis," he says, hoping his tone is loud enough to be heard, "are those Giant ruins?"

Seer does not leave him hanging as he promptly turns his head and smiles, a slow nod confirming his inquiry. Though, as always, where one question is answered, ten more spring up in its place.

As they continue on, Shulk cannot tear his stare away from the enormous sculpted stone. _The chasm is not a clean break in two_ ; this is how the collapsed statue is able to just barely reach the other side, essentially operating as their only way across. Shulk purses his lips as he examines its structure.

The colossal figure depicts a rather disgruntled looking man, and though Shulk cannot see its form entirely, he can tell the Giant is (or _was_ ) a regal individual of some sort. What appears to be a crown or headdress sticks up at four points from his head, the spikes providing stability as they have since been lodged into the cliff's side. The sculpture's surface is visibly bleached by Ether light, telling from various spots of a darker color. As they draw ever closer, the colossal shadow of the stonework envelops them in a biting chill. He could very well mistake it for evening with how much the lighting in the environment has changed. Telling from the similarly colored masses behind the statue, Shulk can safely assume there are many more of these enormous pieces of ancient history further on.

“That’s our way across then, eh?” he calls. Absurdly enough, he finds himself grinning. The terror has officially subsided into mania – fantastic.

“Yes,” Alvis replies. His voice is somehow clear, despite the noise engulfing them. “It will be a quick way of passage, no need to worry. We will not linger longer than we must.” He looks over his shoulder and returns the heir’s smile. Shulk wishes he would keep his eyes on the path ahead.

They approach the structure with caution, and the seer pauses a moment before advancing onto one of the carved inlets of the statue. The patterns on the base are detailed, but large enough in size that they can be used as grooves for one’s steps. Perfect for climbing, yet it does not put Shulk’s churning stomach at ease. _Focus_ , he orders himself. Once they have triumphed over the rolling curve of the statue’s foot, the length of the leg seems simple. Upon nearing the rough textures of the Giant’s coat, the Homs gains a sense of confidence in his footing, and soon ceases lagging in his companion’s wake, instead walking (albeit tentatively) alongside him.

“I almost feel bad for stomping all over art like this,” the blonde says, leaning over. He is grateful for the walkway, but he can only imagine the reaction of a historian should they see him desecrating what remains of an extinct civilization.

“If it serves to make you feel any better, this statue is not of a righteous Giant,” Alvis replies, glancing over at him, “He was a conqueror. Responsible for many deaths, and unjust wars. Of course, much of his history is up for debate, depending on what you choose to read.”

Shulk’s brows raise. He supposes Alvis would know, of all people. History always fascinated him; he wonders if the man will go into more depth later on.

As they come to the contours of the neck and shoulders, Shulk falls back to walk in single file behind his guide once more. When they reach the more smooth facial features, their bond of interlocked fingers must, regrettably, be broken. The jagged details of the Giant’s beard and mustache hardly assist with climbing, and both hands are needed for the endeavor. Without Alvis’ tether, he feels bare in his surroundings, and his anxiousness subsequently causes one foot to slip beneath him as he attempts to crawl up the upper arc of the Giant’s cheekbone. A nimble hand snatches the edge of his sweater, and he frantically grabs onto the other’s wrist.

“Thank you,” Shulk chokes out, refusing to let himself look down. Alvis pulls him up rather easily, to the boy’s surprise. The rest of their venture is done in haste, a sigh of relief released from the Homs as soon as they step off the last of the statue’s visible edges. Sediment where the very top of the structure has penetrated is broken and rocky, but it is not such an obstruction that they cannot progress forward. It is then that Shulk gazes back to the other side of the chasm. It seems further away than he expected. Shaking off the thought, he draws his attention back to his guide, an oddly giddy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Where to next?”

\--

Pale green light illuminates the depths of the pool, swirling in cloudy patterns beneath the glassy surface. Reflections of the stirring Ether dance on the jagged ceiling of the cave, offering not only a source of light, but a show as well. White boots come to a stop at the shoreline, toes hardly disturbing the sand and rubble beneath. The pool looks like a snow globe from this angle, the glowing particles churning like snowflakes in a blizzard. As the boy approaches, Alvis smiles gently, admiring the way the destruction of the Bionis had led to beautiful sights such as these.

“There doesn’t seem to be another way around,” Shulk says finally, his voice echoing off the misshapen walls. With the Bionis in its current state, the original orientation of the leg’s interior had been flipped onto its side. The ground they had walked on to reach this place possesses an odd curvature, foreign writings and strange designs engraved into the stone. While Alvis paid them no mind, he knew that Shulk’s eyes would be trained on every surface as they made their way through the ruins of a long forgotten society.

“That is because there isn’t one.” Seer turns back towards his companion, expression simple. Pleasant, even. A mix of confusion and unease melt into the heir’s features. Clearly he is attempting to restrain his conflicting emotions.. and subsequently failing. Perhaps he should not have been so bold as to condemn the watery expanses surrounding the Bionis on account of their Ether content. All it seems to have done is frighten him away from what could have been enthusiastic exploration.

“So… swimming, then,” blond says, adjusting his bag. His tone seems more decisive, but forcibly so. He wants to trust Alvis – he _has_ wanted to this entire journey, but something always holds him back.

Alvis nods after a moment, confirming the other’s conclusion. When he does not move from his spot in the crumbled rock beneath his shoes, the seer raises his arm, offering his hand. _Trust me._ He watches carefully as blue hues flick between the pool, and his outstretched fingers. “It will be fine.” Tone is relaxed, as it must be. Palms meet before Alvis can say anything more to make his case. His smile widens.

Shulk looks determined as he stares down at the tunnel ahead. Ether light fades the further back one is to gaze, shades of green easily swallowed by the length of the stony corridor. “How deep is it?”

“Very. But you need not worry about that.” He steps forward, his foot promptly becoming engulfed in a few inches of water. Rings expand slowly from the epicenter of his movement. He feels the boy’s reluctance as they wade further in.

“My bag – _shoot_ ,” the Homs sighs, looking over his shoulder at his backpack.

“I will ensure nothing is to become of your things.”

“How--?” he stops himself.

Alvis resists a chuckle. How indeed. Entity knows well what lays in the trek before them. The tunnel, once a long, sloping way of passage to the lower areas of the leg’s interior, had since collapsed in a similar fashion to other areas on the Bionis’ corpse. A complicated maze constructed by Giants, reduced to a hopeless cavern of rubble and seawater. The two would need to dive deep into the intruding waters before resurfacing on the other side – though, the physical act of _swimming_ has no part in his plan. As they approach the drop off into further depths, sloshing steps and all, Alvis speaks up once more.

“I have a request of you, Shulk.”

“Does it have anything to do with my breath intake?” There is a restrained distress in his voice.

Alvis quirks his head, turning towards his partner. “Close your eyes, and do not let go of my hand. No matter what.”

The heir blinks, brows furrowing. “I don’t understand. How’re we supposed to—”

“Just trust me,” seer smiles. He hopes the gesture is persuasive.

Shulk’s mouth thins to a line as he mulls the request over. Slowly, digits shift, tangling together before them. “Okay.”

The boy’s hand is clammy – cold and calloused from years of working with machines, and wielding a weapon. His are not hands one would typically associate with a fighter. They are delicate in many respects: so careful with the page of a new book or tinkering with more fragile materials. An iron-like grip developed into a comfort as hatred and violence grew, his skin hardening with his heart. Curious how selectively time heals its wounds.

Blue eyes have since slipped shut during Alvis’ musing thoughts. He directs his attention back to the Ether whirling between their legs. “Good.”

_One_ , _two_ , _three_ , _four_ steps, and they are drifting. Falling. Earth is absent from beneath their feet as water carries their hair up towards the surface, tiny pockets of air enveloping their bodies entirely before fizzling out the deeper they wander. Alvis keeps the other close to him, his pale eyes glancing over occasionally to ensure Shulk is honoring what he had asked of him. Sure enough, his face is scrunched in concentration, bubbles escaping from his nose and mouth. Emerald specs of Ether have clung to every part of him; entity finds himself smiling wider than he thought he would at the sight.

As the waters become more and more devoid of light and heat, a humming energy seeps outwards, agitating the liquefied Ether still melting into the seawater. The material does not mix with the environment as it wishes. Instead, it coils in and out of complex, starry patterns that decorate the submerged cavern in a way that reminds Alvis of fireflies. The luminous shapes dance across Shulk’s eyelids, cheeks, and jaw. Their descent is interrupted only by a shelf protruding from the tunnel’s wall. Their feet leave its surface as quickly as they had touched down.

Water pressure begins to weigh on Alvis, and he exhales, a rush of air and glowing particles ascending from his open mouth.

With this, he detaches.

Ether dissipates, expanding outwards from the drifting bodies only to draw in close once more, clouding around in nebulous shapes. Quintessence embraces the falling boy, ensuring his safety within the depths of the trench. This energy breathes with him, wrapping his being in murmuring comforts. They will reach the bottom soon.

Ether, in its purest form, is the material on which the universe is constructed. It flows just as easily through earth and sea as it does spacetime. It is because of this fact that it is malleable. Able to be forged into whatever is desired by its maker -- a mighty constituent for those who are able to control it in its more substantial manifestations. Here, within the blackness of a seemingly unending corridor inside the Bionis’ shin, the Ether moves on its own. It protects a mortal form from harm, despite taking no definable shape itself. It exists only to provide guidance and security, twinkling green particles and all.

Pressure is at its heaviest at the tunnel’s lowest point. These crushing depths would not be safe for any living being not specifically built for enduring such environments. Yet the Homs travels without hindrance of these conditions. He drifts delicately, his features having since relaxed in the time it took to get to this point. One could mistake him for a sleeping boy, silhouetted by clinging Ether light as he curiously makes his way throughout the tunnels of a fallen Titan.

The contours of their passageway are revealed in turn as they come and go, ancient script scrawled at all angles, paired with illustrations too worn to make out fully. Entity knows this place’s history. It can recount the millions of creatures that passed through, retell folktales and inconsequential conversations between family, friends, acquaintances, and enemies alike. It witnesses the birth and death of all things, and this vein-like channel is no different.

As remains of the past circle around the travelling boy, his Ether guide begins to construct images from long ago, painting him scenes of daily life within the Bionis’ leg. When the Titan was upright, this path into the shin was an efficient mean of traffic. It branches off to many other sections of the Giant’s sanctuary, making it one of the most treaded areas in their ( albeit _small_ ) community. Displayed like memories, the heir will see how each stone was molded into a haven for a dwindling species, how the writings came to be and what they meant to them, culture passing by as quickly as he ascends towards a surface that seems too far now.

Far, but not unreachable.

Not all of this community is completely unknown to the boy. Parts of these memories are vaguely recognizable.

_Do not worry._

Is that --?

_Nothing is completely out of reach._

Entity withdraws. The Ether remains, however _consciousness_ does not. Seer amasses into being before they breach, and the first thing he senses, after the seawater ceases to muffle his environment, is the hand of his companion, fingers still clutched tightly, as he promised.

\--

Shulk inhales deeply as soon as the air hits his face, blue eyes blinking blearily as they adjust to the dim lighting of their destination. He coughs a few times, specs of terribly salty water flying off his lips at the sudden movement. As his gaze focuses, he watches as glowing Ether ebbs away from his feet, slowly sinking smoky tendrils back into the water depths.

“Where -- “ he clears his throat, straightening his posture, “Where are we?”

“One of the more sacred halls of the Giants who lived here,” Alvis’ tone is oddly gentle, “Come, out of the water.”

Stepping onto the shore, the heir realizes that he is not as cold as he expected. In fact, everything from his clothes to his bag to his hair are completely dry. Save for the taste of the ocean on his tongue, it’s as if he never maneuvered through the flooded tunnel at all. Looking back towards their exit point, he can still envision the Giants who lived here, how their surviving colony came and went…

His eyes are burning as he turns back towards Alvis. “How long?” He holds the other man in place by his hand, digits still bonding them to each other despite his promise having been fulfilled.

Alvis’ brows raise slightly. “How long..?”

“How long did they survive? The Giants -- they were here I…” he shakes his head, heat rushing to his face as tears bead at the corners of his eyes, “I could see them. Hear them -- they had… there were children, too. How long did they hold out until…?”

“Roughly eight generations lived among these catacombs. It became a fortress of sorts, to take shelter from the White Spiders, among other enemies,” Alvis replies as he moves to stand in front of the other, “That may not seem like much to a Homs, but Giants lived much longer than you or any of your predecessors. Longer than the High Entia, even.”

“Eight generations…” Shulk looks away from Alvis, focusing on the ground instead. Memories linger in the back of his mind as if they are his own. A tear finally breaks free, rolling down his cheek. Pads of soft digits brush past his hair, wiping away his stray melancholy.

“You mourn them?” Alvis says quietly, fingers curling inwards to ghost along his cheek in a comforting gesture.

“I-I saw him. He was here, he…” his features scrunch in frustration at his inability to form a single sentence. But he saw his old caretaker - Dickson had come through here at one time. He’d stayed here. Went by a different name, but Shulk knows it was him. His true form was burned into his own memory in another world after… after… “ -- You knew. Y-you _showed_  me,” the heir meets the other’s eyes now, urgency tinging his curiosity, “How? I could… _feel_ you there - _everywhere_. You… You kept me..safe.”

Alvis smiles warmly. “Have I not been saying I would?”

Shulk’s mind draws a blank, and he hardly notices the knuckles that absently caress his jawline, his mystified gaze focusing only on the lavender tint to Alvis’ eyes. Had that always been there? It seems so subtle, and yet it softens all his features.

Suddenly, the seer-- the Monado-- _Alvis_... He isn’t as cold and unreachable as he had been in the past. He’s here, and he’s looking out for him. Like he always has.

Realization floods his senses, akin to the red hue that colors his ears. Impulsively, Shulk steps away, releasing the other man’s hand, nearly stumbling over the rubble and back into the water. He catches himself, refusing the embarrassment of falling butt-first and drenching him, and his bag, after Alvis had kept everything dry for so long. After the fact, he begins to stammer even more over his words. “S-sorry -- I, ah..thank you. For that. You… said you would and…” he forces a wide smile, “And you did! Thank you. I, uhm, I really appreciate it, Alvis.”

His companion has not moved an inch since he detached himself. He stands just a few feet ahead of him, one brow quirked, the sincerity in his smile unchanged. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay -- I’m fine,” Shulk chuckles awkwardly, wringing his hands in an effort to settle his nerves, “Hand’s a little sweaty. Sorry. Uh -- lead the way, I’ll -- wait, where are we going next?”

There is a pause before Alvis answers, as if he is considering his partner’s sporadic behavior. Eventually he does turn around, and begins taking a few steps forward into the open area. “Follow me. And watch your step.” The amusement in his voice is almost deafening.

Shulk runs a hand through his hair, smacking himself internally for his words. His actions. _Gods_ \- one would think the man _burned_ him with how quickly he leapt away. Exhaling, he trails slowly after his tour guide, commanding his fluttering heart and churning stomach cease their war with his _lying_ brain. It’s the residual effect from the tunnel. It’s the long journey with no respite. It’s something he ate.

It’s not Alvis. Damn it, it’s _not Alvis_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( It's Alvis. )


End file.
